Norway and Iceland Make a Porno
by ClassyAsBollocks
Summary: Iceland needs money, so Norway suggests that they make a porno. France films it because Denmark's been prescribed Ritalin, which takes away his liking for disastrous ideas. Due to France's suggestions and general awkwardness, they wind up making more of a comedy film than a porno, which explains why the video ended up on Funniest Home Videos. I don't know where this came from.


**Disclaimer: Pizza-dick pornos exist; I'm glad that I don't own them. Oh yeah, I don't own Hetalia, either. Boo. **

Iceland sighed as he sat on his sofa, nursing a bottle of hard liquor and flipping aimlessly through television channels. As the screen bathed him in the effervescent blue glow of unabashed commercialism featuring such niceties as Brawndo the Thirst Mutilator and jewellery to give to his non-existant girlfriend/wife as an apology on Christmas for his inattentiveness the other days of the year while simultaneously berating and calling him a loser for not having any of the items that they were brazenly marketing to him via subliminal messaging, he sighed once again. His economy was floundering, he had no contingency plan, and Norway was fogging up the living room window with his heavy breathing. Speaking of which…

"God damn it, Norway, just come inside and get your erection off of my window panes," Iceland said irritably before taking another swig of alcohol. It burned going down, but the warmth made him feel alive, damn it! Plus it was his only source of heat what with the fact that his home heating system had broken down due to an incident involving Denmark, a plastic grocery sack, and several gerbils and wouldn't be repaired until next week but that was another story.

Iceland snorted as Norway stood shivering in the doorway, kicking snow off of his boots and dribbling snot from his nose. "How dignified," he said dryly. "The icicles inevitably hanging from your ballsack right now serve you right for standing outside of my house all day with a camcorder in one hand and your dick in another."

This time it was Norway's turn to snort. "Me hiding in the bushes and masturbating would be flattering us both, little brother. I was merely waiting for you to regain some vestiges of general etiquette and invite me in. Your lawn could use a trimming, by the way."

"So could your ass hairs," Iceland countered.

Norway threw a contemptuous look at him, as though he were a Roman noble and Iceland a peasant whose blood had splashed across his chariot and still had the gall to complain that he'd been run over. "Care to do the honours?" He drawled. "I have a pair of clippers in my pocket, if you're up to the challenge."

Iceland blinked. "That's…

"An unbearable affront to your sanity?" Norway asked in an almost excited tone.

"I was going to say a bit weird, but yeah, that too." Iceland set his bottle down on the coffee table and turned towards his brother. "What're you doing here, anyway? I thought you were supposed to be over at Denmark's?"

"Meh," Norway said. "He lost any entertainment value that he might've once had ever since his doctor started prescribing him Ritalin. Rather than being stupid and hyperactive, he's just stupid nowadays. It's a bit disappointing, to be honest; at least when Denmark was constantly thinking up hare- brained schemes that inevitably wound up with him being hospitalized, I could at least mock his injuries. But now…I've got nothing." Norway shook his head, looking almost wistful.

Iceland settled further into the couch cushions and picked up the remote control, changing the television program from Doctor Who to a station that featured a logo in the corner shaped like a pair of buttocks with a heart tattoo on the left cheek. "Oh, woe is me," Iceland derided. "Bloody-well woe am I." His voice heightened into a mocking falsetto. "I'm Norway and I don't have my dumbass best friend to make fun of anymore." Eyebrow cocked at a jaunty angle, he began to saw two fingers back and forth against one another. "This here is the world's smallest violin," Iceland explained. "Allow me to play you an original piece. It's called "My Heart Bleeds For You, But My Penis Pumps Piss On Your Petty Problems. I'll follow it up with "Kiss My Ass and Tell Me the Flavour" and "Dial 9-11 for the Waaaaaah-mbulance."

Norway raised his eyebrows. "And what's gotten you into such a snarky mood today? Still upset that your right testicle sags more than your left?" He asked.

"THEY'RE EVEN NOW!" Iceland snapped, flushing. "And no, that's not it! My economy is down the crapper and I don't know where I'm going to get any money."

"Get a job?" Norway suggested.

Iceland folded his arms. "I need serious suggestions, not faerie tales!"

Norway rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Make a porno?"

"What the _ass_?" Iceland said incredulously.

"Well yes, there would be a rather large amount of ass involved-Norway began.

Iceland slapped himself on the forehead hard enough to leave an imprint of his palm. "No, fuckstick! I meant-

"Fuckstick, eh? Is that what they're calling penises these days? Back in the 1800's I just called them One-Eyed Willies," Norway said.

"ARGH! I meant where the hell did you come up with the idea to make a porno, of all things?!" Iceland snapped.

Norway propped his feet up on the table, much to Iceland's annoyance, folded his right arm behind his head in a casual manner and pointed at the television screen. "One's been playing on the television for the past ten minutes." He squinted his eyes in concentration. "I think it's Sperms of Endearment."

Eye twitching violently, Iceland pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. That makes sense in a convoluted sort of way. But how do you propose I go about _making_ this porno?" He said through clenched teeth, determinedly ignoring the loud moans and grunts emanating from the television.

"All you need is a willing participant or ten, some make-up, tight pants, a camcorder, and someone jaded about sex to the point that filming genitalia and puddles of sexual fluids would be about as arousing for them as unclogging a toilet," Norway ticked off on his fingers. "And we can find all of that in France's closet," he added.

Iceland stared at him. And stared at him. And stared at him some more. "Uhm…Yeah, my brain temporarily short-circuited while attempting to process that information. Care to explain?"

Norway shrugged. "Everyone knows that France is a bit eccentric when it comes to sexual matters," he said carelessly.

"Actually, my real question is why do _you _know so much about his paraphilia's and the contents of his closet?" Iceland asked tentatively.

"Cocaine is a hell of a drug. Let's just leave it at that."

"All right, I really don't want to know anyway."

"Well, in that case, he has a-

"I SAID I DON'T WANNA KNOW, DAMN IT!"

Norway shrugged. "Your loss. Anyway, we can ask France to lend us some props. I'm sure he wouldn't object."

"Wait, what do you mean _us_?" Iceland asked, looking as though he already knew the answer but was desperately wishing that he didn't.

Norway's mouth curled into a smirk. "Why, I'm going to be your co-star, of course. I'm older, so I get to be on top, by the way."

Iceland threw him a horrified glance. "It's just like that time we were sharing bunk beds," he murmured before his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he fainted dead away.

Several hours later he awoke to find himself lying on a heart-shaped bed with France standing beside him and wearing little more than an unbelted housecoat and a pair of leopard-print bikini briefs that outlined his bulge in a manner most horrifying.

Iceland let out a scream that caused several corpses in a nearby cemetery to roll over in their graves and start a conversation with one another about how it was Judgment Day already and that they were all going to have ironic punishments in hell by the sound of the tortured screams.

France laughed heartily, his loud oh-hon-hon-hon causing the newly resurrected dead to confirm that not only were they in hell, but that they were about to punch in a one-way ticket to being sodomized by Satan's barbed penis for the rest of eternity and hoping fervently that the lube in hell wasn't acid-based, even though it probably was. Iceland, meanwhile, rolled off of the mattress and onto the floor, where he lay on his stomach with his ass up in the air and his face mashed into the carpet.

"Oh good, you've already assumed the position," Norway said as he walked into the room. Groggily, Iceland looked up to find that Norway was dressed as a Domino's Pizza delivery boy, complete with pizza box.

"What're you-How did I get here? Why is France's man-tackle about to pop out from his panties? Are you-My anus is in serious trouble, isn't it?" Iceland muttered.

Norway nodded while France began to fiddle about with a video camera in the background. "Prepare your ass for vicious entry in…Ten minutes," he said, glancing down at his watch. Pulling something out of the corner, he tossed it at Iceland, who caught it with his face, looking numb. "Suit up and go stand by the front door," Norway advised just before slamming the door shut behind him.

After a few confused moments, Iceland turned towards France, who was still locked in combat with the camcorder (and losing.) "So…Yeah, if I wind up seeing any side-ball from that mankini of yours, I'm going to rip your testicles out of their sack and shove them into your eye sockets," he said.

France quickly belted his robe closed. "There, no need to induce any testicular trauma on me, no?" He said nervously. "Now, it'd be best for you to do as your brother suggested and get in costume; I'm about to start filming soon," he added, looking oddly professional and not in the least bit perverted as he spoke.

Iceland raised his eyebrows in surprise. "How come you aren't being creepy about this?" He asked.

France shrugged. "The amount of sex that I've had in my life is staggering. What are a few more penises to me? Trust me, I'm actually quite professional when it comes to sexual artistry," he assured him.

"You call people fucking on camera sexual artistry?" Iceland snorted.

"Would you rather I call you a whore?" France said.

"Touché," Iceland muttered, and walked into the closet to get changed. He emerged several minutes later wearing a pair of leather hot pants, his boots and nothing else (besides his humiliation.)

France gave him a thumbs up. "You look like a slut; excellent! Now, get your sweet ass down to the front door and don't forget to sashay!"

Iceland flipped him off and stormed out of the room, only to come back in two seconds later, looking angry and embarrassed. "Where's your front door?" He ground out.

"Go down the staircase and make a left," France told him.

Muttering, Iceland quickly made his way down the stairs, twitching slightly when he saw the framed pictures of nude people in various sexual positions all over the walls and nearly jumping out of his tiny shorts when he heard France following behind him, camera in hand and sing-songing that he "wasn't sashaying!"

Sighing heavily as the doorbell rang, sending out a series of chimes that sounded suspiciously similar to the melody of "Shut Up and Sleep with Me", Iceland flung open the front door to reveal Norway still dressed as a delivery boy and clutching a pizza box oddly close to his crotch area. Iceland's eye began to twitch again.

"Oh HELL no," he began, but before he could launch into a tirade about how degrading and ridiculous the situation was, how poorly conceived and unoriginal the plot line was and even before he could batter himself into a bloody crater against the wall, Norway struck what he supposed was a sexy pose, thrusting his pelvis forward suggestively.

"Somebody ordered a pizza?" He asked huskily.

Barely restraining the urge to disembowel himself with a nearby umbrella, Iceland forced a smile onto his face that made him look as though he were suffering from risus sardonicus and nodded his head jerkily. "According to this nonsensical and hackneyed script, yes, I did. I also suppose that I haven't got any money as well and have no other choice than to pay for this cardboard and processed cheese pizza by giving you free reign over my asshole despite this being all sorts of illegal."

Norway, however, was undeterred by Iceland's refusal to play along. "Why yes," he said in an extremely hammy voice, "I do accept sex as an alternate form of payment. Good thing this pizza is already penis-flavoured!" With that, he pushed up the top flap of the pizza box, revealing that a hole had been cut into the bottom so that the top of his junk stuck up through the pizza like an X-rated version of Whack-a-Mole.

Iceland rolled his eyes. "At least you didn't say that it came with sausage. I would've had to rip your dick off and beat you to death with it," he muttered. Iceland began to unbutton his shorts. "Let's just get this over with; the smell of that cheap-ass pizza is making me lose wood."

"Works for me," Norway agreed, tossing the pizza box aside and shoving Iceland face-first into the wall whilst simultaneously unbuttoning his trousers. "I forgot lubricant. That all right with you? Great," he said tonelessly, pulling Iceland's shorts down to his ankles and exposing his pale, pert behind.

"Fine with me, I stuck some broken glass in there in order to circumcise you," Iceland shrugged. Norway paused.

"And there goes my erection," he said. "That was a little much. I was kidding about not using lube, you know."

"Yeah well, saying that you're just gonna jam your cock up my ass isn't exactly polite, either. My sphincter clenched tight enough to crack walnuts when you said that," Iceland responded irritably.

"My apologies for interrupting your flirting, but can the two of you get to it already? I have a meeting in two hours," France informed them.

Norway mumbled something under his breath. "All right, fine," he said waspishly. "Iceland, bend over and don't tense up."

"Wait, wha-Iceland's sentence dissolved into a strangled gasp when he felt a finger slip inside of him. "Cold, cold, cold," he chanted. He turned his head around to glare at Norway. "What the fucking fuck?" He demanded. "Did you put that lube in the icebox or something?"

"Maybe," Norway said before adding another finger and moving them around in a scissoring motion. "Nice mewling, by the way; you sound like an adorable kitten."

"That's really fucking creepy," Iceland muttered, gasping as Norway pushed his buttocks apart.

"Oh. Sorry. I mean…It's hot," Norway amended.

"Just stick it in before I change my mind," Iceland muttered.

"Well, that's not very romantic," Norway said, frowning.

Iceland looked up at the ceiling. "Neither is making a porno when you think about it. You want romance? Take me to some fancy French restaurant when we're done. And don't forget to tell me that the candlelight makes me look beautiful."

"But, you always look beautiful."

"Aww, I feel so validated."

"Is that sarcasm that I detect?"

"Only partially; I really am flattered."

"All right. I'm going in now."

"Finally."

Norway pressed his lips gently against Iceland's neck. "Impatient, aren't we?" He murmured, carefully pushing himself inside of Iceland.

"Going slow, aren't we?" Iceland countered. "If I wanted someone pushing a limp noodle inside of me at the pace of molasses in an igloo, I'd have asked…Uh…Okay, so I don't have an analogy or metaphor, just hurry up, damn it!"

"If that's what you want, then I sincerely hope you enjoy this," Norway said, and began to thrust rapidly in and out of him, grasping the younger man's hips so tightly that bruised began to blossom beneath his fingertips.

"Oh yeah, _now _we're getting somewhere," Iceland panted.

"The littlest Nordic likes it rough. Who knew?" Norway said, palming Iceland's hitherto unattended cock, feeling a bit of pre-cum dribble across his fingers. Looking thoughtful, he increased his pace so that he was pounding Iceland so furiously that the boy's head banged into the wall with enough forced to make a picture frame fall down.

"Uh, sorry about that," Norway began, but France waved his hand magnanimously.

"Think nothing of it, cher, I'm getting incredible footage! Speaking of which, do you mind shifting a bit to the right? I need more ass in this shot."

"Er," Iceland said.

"MORE ASS!" France shouted.

Norway and Iceland's penises simultaneously deflated like balloons; in fact, they didn't so much shrink back to normal size as they did withdraw into their respective pubic bones like turtles hiding in their shells.

"And my dick just retreated in terror," Iceland said blankly.

"Same here. Mine retracted so far in that I think I might legally have to register myself as female now," Norway agreed, looking down sadly at where his once-proud erection had been.

France stared at the two of them in bewilderment. "What did I do?" He demanded.

"Everything short of getting naked, covering yourself in Nutella and doing the YMCA with your legs in front of a police station while screaming about how you have ten orphans chained up in your basement," Iceland said.

"There's just something about screaming 'more ass' that really ruins the mood. Actually, it didn't so much ruin the mood as utterly annihilate it," Norway added, and began to put his trousers back on. Iceland began to redress as well.

"Wait so…That's it?" France asked dejectedly.

Norway nodded. "That's it."

"We're going home now," Iceland said, grabbing Norway's hand and dragging him out of the house. The door slammed shut with a sort of finality, leaving France alone and unfulfilled. Sighing, he threw himself down on the sofa and began to flip through television channels. Upon catching sight of a certain program, his eyes lit up.

"I think I know how I can salvage this video," he muttered, stroking his chin and picking up the phone. "Hello, Tom Bergeron? I would like to submit a video," he began.

A few weeks later, Iceland was once again watching television in his living room, only this time he was in his underwear and sitting on an equally undressed Norway's lap. He wrapped his arms around the other man's waist and sighed. "Too bad that the porn thing didn't work out," he said. "I could've really used the money."

Norway patted his ass affectionately. "Well, at least we had fun trying to make it? Or not," he said quickly at the look Iceland threw him. "On the other hand-Oh God…

Iceland's expression turned to one of concern. "What's happening…Oh…" He said softly when he saw that he and Norway were currently being featured on the television screen while wearing leather shorts and talking about a penis-flavoured pizza, respectively.

"Frankly, I'm more curious about how it is that we're watching America's Funniest Home Videos in Iceland," Norway admitted as his television counterpart fumbled to remove the pizza box from around his censored privates.

Iceland shrugged. "I just hope that France gives me the money if the video wins." He winced. "God, why didn't you tell me that those shorts were riding so badly up my crack?"

"It didn't seem important at the time. And I kind of liked seeing what I was working with," Norway explained.

Iceland grunted. "You have issues."

"So says the guy who masturbates to Bjork."

"…Touché."

The End.

**A/N: Just for the record, their video was called Pizza Porno Parody and went on to win them $100,000, which they proceeded to spend on thugs to put the boot to France medium style for submitting the video without their permission. Don't worry, they hardly left any scars. **


End file.
